


stars when you shine (you know how I feel)

by MistressKat



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Collection: Fandom Stocking 2014, M/M, Misunderstandings, Russian Translation Available, Translation Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:12:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3205445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/pseuds/MistressKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Christmas Eve and John Reese is pining like a Nordic forest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stars when you shine (you know how I feel)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Goddess47](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goddess47/gifts).



> This was written for goddess47 as a Fandom Stocking gift. They said they liked pining in fics... Well. Who better than John Reese? The title is obviously from Nina Simone’s You Know How I Feel. Just be grateful I didn’t use the ‘scent of a pine, you know how I feel’ line instead. I ALMOST DID. Many thanks to Fictionwriter for beta.
> 
> Russian translation available [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13276998)

It’s Christmas Eve and John is spending it in his apartment with Bear and he’s not happy about it. Neither is Bear who eyes him balefully from his dog basket as if the whole affair is John’s fault, which, to be fair, it probably is. There had been no number in the morning and after listening to John not-read, very loudly, for a couple of hours Finch had finally said 'Why don't we have an early finish so you can enjoy your Christmas, Mr Reese?' in that way of his where an order was phrased as a question but was still very much an order.  
  
John, it has been shown many a time, is quite incapable of disobeying one of those when it comes from Finch and doesn’t directly place either of their lives at risk. When Finch turned back to his coding and left John and Bear standing there it had been so very clear they were both dismissed. It had been impossible to tell which of them looked more hangdog; the man or the actual dog.  
  
And now it's evening and John has done all his dishes (one cup, one saucer, two spoons but the second was only because he wasn’t convinced he'd washed it properly the last time so he rewashed it) and he's cleaned all his guns. He’s also taken Bear for a run and had a shower, done some push-ups and sit-ups and then had another shower, and now Bear is looking at him accusingly because his restless wandering is keeping the dog awake when he's clearly settled for a nice nap in his basket.  
  
The reason for John’s inability to do the same (to have a rest, basket optional though sometimes he sleeps on the floor, his back to the wall, because it makes him feel safer) is his inability to ask if maybe Finch had wanted them to spend Christmas together.  
  
John had wanted to ask that since Thanksgiving, maybe Halloween, both holidays which they'd ended up working. Halloween was spent protecting a number who was dressed as a vampire and had unknowingly caught the attention of genuinely crazycakes vampire wannabes who’d planned on using him as a blood sacrifice. The case had involved John dressing in all black with eye make-up and fake fangs which was without a doubt the most ridiculous thing he'd ever had to do for a job and had made Finch turn a funny crimson colour there for a while, from trying not to laugh John assumes.  
  
On Thanksgiving they both got stuck in an empty barn when a number (a turkey farmer also farming weed) locked them in. It was freezing cold. They had to huddle in the corner for warmth until Carter managed to get hold of the local police to come and open the fucking door. John had tried kicking it down and felt decidedly like a failure for not managing it despite Harold’s pointed comments about reinforced steel and lack of stress fractures therein.  
  
It’s safe to say John has been thinking about asking about Harold's Christmas plans for a while. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have any since Will is still aboard. There just hasn't been the right moment to ask. He's tried bringing it up subtly a few times but every time he casually remarks about Christmas songs or how maybe it will snow or whatever Finch goes all pursed lips and tense shoulders and sends John out to shoot people in the kneecaps or get Harold Crane's dry cleaning or something. And it's not like John doesn't enjoy running errands for Finch, yes even picking up dry cleaning, because he likes being useful, likes being useful for _Harold_ , but it hasn’t been helping with the plans to ask him about Christmas. John had psyched himself up to finally bring up the topic today but then he (and Bear) got sent home.  
  
So now John is home. Alone. Bear whines as if sensing his thoughts and John scratches his ear and tells him that he's a good boy but not much of a conversationalist. Bear barks at him. And alright, John has to admit that there's more give and take in this conversation than the one he was trying to have with Harold earlier today.  
  
He goes to the window and watches people hurrying home, the way the sleet-almost-snow swirls in the light cast by the street lamps, and thinks about all the things he wants for Christmas and for every day after, things he has no business wanting and even less right having. He usually tries not to let himself think about it but perhaps this one night he can indulge and...  
  
The phone rings.  
  
"Mr Reese," Finch says once John switches his comm on, feeling immediately warmer once Harold's voice is in his ear even if it's sounding decidedly pissy.  
  
"Finch," he says mildly, "a new number?"  
  
"No," Finch says and then clams up. They spend almost a full minute simply breathing together in silence. It's rather peaceful.  
  
Finally Harold clears his throat and starts again. "I can't help but notice, Mr Reese, that you haven’t left yet."  
  
John blinks. He thinks about asking how Finch knows this but then decides that it would just make him sound stupid so instead he simply says: "I wasn't aware I needed to do so. Have I missed an important engagement somewhere?"  
  
"Well," Harold says. Then he clears his throat again. "Mr Reese, I assumed..." He trails off and there's the familiar sound of keyboard clicking that never fails to communicate to John's hind brain that all is well in the world. "You haven't made any travel plans," Finch says a few seconds later. He sounds almost accusing.  
  
John feels guilty despite not knowing what for. It's simply a gut reaction to disappointing Finch somehow even unwittingly. "No... Should I have?"  
  
"No!" Finch snaps, followed by: "I mean, obviously, if you wanted to. Mr Reese I..." He sounds flustered which is so uncharacteristic that John gets an urge to reach for the shotgun, run to the library (or wherever Harold currently is) and deal with whatever is causing Harold such distress in the most direct way he knows how.  
  
"Harold," he says, striving for calm though his fingers are clenching restlessly against the window still. "What is it?" He looks up, directly at one of the many cameras he knows are dotted around the loft. The green light blinks at him.  
  
It's as if the use of Harold's name snaps him out of whatever has been making him pricklier than your average hedgehog these last few weeks. "Mr Reese," he says, and then: "John. I had thought you'd want to spend the holidays somewhere else."  
  
John slumps in relief. "Where else would I go?" he asks, determinedly looking up at the camera. "Why would I... I don't _want_ to go anywhere else." He'd thought that much was obvious. Maybe not. Maybe for all his brilliance Finch was sometimes remarkably obtuse.  
  
"I see," Harold says. There's a beat of silence after that but John can hear the smile in it, the small genuine one that he can sometimes tease out and that always seems to take Harold by surprise. "In that case, Mr Reese... John. I wonder if you would care for some... company?"  
  
John has to duck his head then because the smile on his own face is too revealing he's sure. "I'll put the kettle on," he says, walking toward the kitchen. "Bring a turkey."  
  
In his ear Harold huffs, and the sound of computers being shut down and the rustle of clothes indicates that he's making good on his suggestion. "The dinner has already been taken care of," Harold tells him. "I know some very good restaurants that will deliver."  
  
"Of course you do," John agrees, and focuses on measuring the exact amount of tea leaves into the strainer. It seems safer than telling Harold that he doesn't much care what they eat for the Christmas dinner as long as they're sharing it.  
  
"I will see you shortly," Harold says, and John smiles and smiles even though he can't be sure if Harold is still monitoring the cameras on his cell, hopes even that he is and that he can _see_ how much this means to John...  
  
Or maybe John will just have to show him later. He can do that.


End file.
